A Whole New Game
by Behindthebook08
Summary: "I stare without subtlety, watching the graceful curves of her body as it slowly reveals itself to me. She's small, but her entire person seems to be alight with some sort of unpredictable energy...District 12 doesn't have women like this. And even if it did, those women don't make a habit of taking off their clothes in front of strangers they meet in elevators." (Jo/Katniss, M)
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Welcome Welcome! This is just a little plot bunny that thundered into my mind after seeing the most recent movie (which I thoroughly enjoyed, btw). Will be about 4 chapters, with a potential sequel or continuation eventually. I hope you enjoy, and please please review as I am always trying to improve! Thanks!**

**Oh, and I in know way own any of these characters, I just like to toy with their emotions.**

* * *

I stare without subtlety, watching the graceful curves of her body as it slowly reveals itself to me. She's small, but her entire person seems to be alight with some sort of unpredictable energy. It's not that I've never seen a naked body before, my mother's a healer, but District 12 doesn't have women like _this,_ women so alive, so desperate. They don't have women who cause the temperature to rise in every room they inhabit. And even if it did, those women don't make a habit of taking off their clothes in front of strangers they meet in elevators.

When she had entered the elevator, she had only been missing her head piece. Understandable, it was an ugly and awkward accessory, and I had seen her throw it at her stylist as she escaped her chariot, but that had only been the beginning. As soon as she entered the elevator she began tearing off accessories, until finally she allowed her gown to crumple to her feet, kicking it away without remorse.

And so I'm staring.

I'm staring? I shake my head quickly to regain focus, it's rude to stare, and uncomfortable, no matter how odd or naked the person you're staring at is. I look into her dark eyes and she's smirking, she knows I was staring.

I don't hear a word said until she's stepping on to her floor and the doors close smoothly behind her, I try and focus on her face, her hair, her cheekbones—anything which won't cause my face to flush. Her hair causes me to smile for a moment, as it sticks out at obvious angles, but she doesn't seem to care. She seems like that type, the type of woman who will happily tell the world where to go, and grin while doing it. Her eyes glow with mischief and I can't help but think, _This should have been the girl on fire, this woman is an inferno._ As she exits the elevator I try to stare very deliberately at the back of her neck, an appropriate place to stare, unfortunately I'm caught when Haymitch has to call my name twice to garner my attention.

Apparently, I've asked him about her, because he's explaining the enigma which is this woman, "_That_ is Johanna Mason. She's a character, convinced the rest of the tributes that she was weak and scared, then the absolutely massacred them all."

I'm startled by this, she didn't seem like one of the career pack, but that's how she sounds. I cover my surprise by drawling, "Lovely," but apparently I just sound judgmental, which I suppose I am. But what does he expect? The woman just tore off all of her clothes in an elevator, and now he's telling me that she's some merry murderess? How was I _supposed _to react?

"Hey, we all have our game personas, don't we sweetheart? I wouldn't judge if I were you," he tells me pointedly, and I glare at him because Peeta is suddenly staring at his feet awkwardly. This is exactly what I didn't need right now.

There are few things worse than those moments when Peeta is upset with me. It's not fair to him, but I completely rely on him for that stability. When he's happy with me I can go to him for a guaranteed pick me up, and for that human contact that I desperately need. But when he's upset—well, an upset Peeta is just miserable. He's cold and monosyllabic; he won't even look at me.

I know he's trying not to be angry with me over things which happened in the games, but he can't entirely control it. He feels betrayed, and I don't blame him—though the whole thing was his idea to begin with. I just wish he had kept his feeling to himself, we all would have been much better off.

That's a lie; one or both of us would be dead. That isn't better, not really.

I heave a sigh as I escape the elevator and make my way to my room; I just can't play the game anymore today.

As I lie on my bed all I can see is Peeta's pained expression on the train all those months ago, the moment when I broke his heart.

It's not a pleasant picture to fall asleep to.

* * *

The picture which assaults my subconscious shortly after is something else entirely.

I can't contain the moan which escapes my lips as teeth scrape delicately against my neck, lips sucking, and caressing as I fall completely merciless to the person marking me, "You don't belong to the bread boy now, do you kitten?" a voice whispers, "You're mine, aren't you?"

"Yes," I gasp, "Only yours."

"Good girl," the voice whispers, pushing me tighter against the wall I lean on. Suddenly lips are covering my own and small hands are carefully sliding up my dress, stroking my thighs, teasing me.

"Please," I beg, pulling the person closer to me, I hear jingling laughter in response.

"You're begging, and yet I don't think you know what you're even begging for," they laugh, pushing an escaped tendril behind my ear, "So desperate, yet so innocent." Suddenly the laughter ceases as their dark eyes glow brighter, and two fingers are beings pushed past my dripping folds.

My legs go weak, and for just a moment I can't help but appreciate the fact that, despite being smaller than me, they can hold me up while fingers work diligently inside of me.

As I reach my peak I open my eyes, staring brightly into the brown ones in front of me, soft lips caress mine as they whisper to me, "I'll see you again soon, Mockingjay." A groan escapes me as a loud ding erupts in my mind and I feel the elevator shift beneath me.

My lover is gone, and my legs let me fall lazily to the floor of the elevator. As it dings again something in my mind registers that it isn't the elevator I'm hearing, and I find myself groaning again.

My eyes flutter open and I find the perplexing Capitol room surrounding me, as my alarm rings and Haymitch pounds on the door. "Yes, yes, I know, I'm coming," I shout through the door, he grumbles incoherently, his voice disappearing down towards the main lounge, and I'm stuck staring at the ceiling again. What the hell was that dream about?

Sure, I'm not naïve. I'm seventeen years old, of course I've had a sex dream before—but that, that was different, and not just because it featured a woman in the leading roll, though I certainly didn't expect that either.

I haven't had a single dream that wasn't a nightmare in nearly a year, and even before that, before the games, I mostly featured in terrifying and gruesome dreams—not dreams that left me with a dizzy smile on my face. What's gotten into me?

I brush my hair out of my face and throw on the training clothes that Effie left out for me. There's no use showering just to go and spend the day sweating. I'll grab one when I get back. Clothes changed, and my hair neatly braided, I make my way towards the main room with a smile on my face. While I'm still perplexed, I suppose I shouldn't be complaining about a nightmare free night.

The smile fades quickly though, as I find Peeta and Haymitch are already in conversation about possible allies. '_What a shock, making decisions for me, without me, again.'_

"No." I tell them firmly. "I'm not getting attached to anyone else, besides, they would kill us off first—they don't even know us."

"Katniss," Peeta whines, and I can feel my good mood quickly fraying. "Haymitch says we need them! Just be reasonable, for once."

Haymitch says, Haymitch says. Haymitch is wrong, this is a suicide move, and I know it. I'm not going to let either of us die because of some stupid mistake. "Haymitch says a lot of things. My answer is no."

"But Johanna and Finnick both offered aliances!" He pleads.

I snort, and Effie glares in my direction, "Unladylike," she mutters and I can't suppress my grin.

"You mean the sex-addict and the naked sociopath? Um, no, I think I'll pass on that one," I almost feel bad for snapping, but honestly, they're scheming with their dicks, not their brains. Good looks and psychotic tendencies aren't a way to choose allies. "I'm sorry guys, but really, Johanna Mason? Didn't she trick everyone into liking her during her first games and then, you know, kill them with a hatchet? That seems rather unhinged to me…"

"She did what she needed to survive," Haymitch growls, and I flinch. "And that's a skill you're both lacking in. Those two have both set records for number of kills in the games, and you could use some skill of that level. Not everyone can win by placing flowers and eating poison berries."

My face flushes, this is one of those times when I probably should have kept my mouth shut. "And another thing," he continues. "Don't judge what you don't fucking understand. You may be smart, but you're also children and new to this whole victor game. Keep your mouth shut about both of their personalities and life choices, you don't know anything about them."

"Sorry Haymitch," I whisper, I had forgotten that he's friends with these people. "But really, how can we trust them?"

"By trusting me," he says, getting up to refill his coffee. Peeta just nods.

"I'll think about it," I promise, "That's all I can guarantee right now."

As I leave the room I try desperately to exhale and breathe. Haymitch is right, I know that these games are different, but that doesn't change the fact that I don't want to align with these people. I traipse down the stairs and try to clear my head, but that turns into a waisted effort when a door slams hard into my face, knocking me to the ground.

I land hard on the stairs and topple down half a flight before I'm able to catch myself. Some victor I am.

"Ow," I groan, gently touching my forehead to check for blood.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck." Says a voice from above me, I can hear someone sprinting down the stairs as they swear. "I didn't mean to, really. Why the fuck were you so close to that door anyways? And why were you on the stairs? Fuck, I'm so sorry. Fuck."

"Take a breath," I whisper, I haven't even figured out who is talking yet. Things are spinning too much. "I think I'm fine, it doesn't seem to be bleeding." Looking up, I peer into the startlingly brown eyes of Johanna Mason, and that's when it clicks. The dream. The eyes. The voice. It was _her._

"Do you have a concussion?" Johanna asks, tearing off a piece of her sleeve. She uncaps a waterbottle she had on her hip and drenches the bit of fabric. Before I can object she's holding the cold cloth against the quickly forming welt on my forehead. Watching Johanna's panicked face, I can't help but think that maybe her tough side is more of an act that I had realized before. She's genuinely concerned. "Should I get a medic?"

"You're wearing clothes," I whisper hazily, immedietly groaning as Johanna laughs. _Really? Really Katniss? That's your response?_

She pulls the cloth away, "Yea, I am. I don't actually spend all of my time starkers… only when people insist on dressing me as a god-damned tree," she says with a smirk. "I guess that you're okay. I really am sorry, I didn't mean to hit you."

I shake my head and stand up carefully, the world swims for a moment and I find myself leaning against the door while I gain perspective. "It's my fault, my mind was far off."

Johanna nods as if she understands, "You headed to training?" she asks, and I nod. "Cool, walk with me," she says, hooking her arm through mine.

"Okay…" I mutter confusedly. The world has stopped spinning, but that doesn't mean I have any more of an idea as to why Johanna Mason is walking me to training, acting as if we're old friends. Before I can ask, she starts talking, and I discover that she is _much_ more talkative than I realized.

"So I'm Johanna Mason, district seven. Haymitch probably told you, but it seemed polite to introduce myself. You're Katniss Everdeen, girl on fire, the mockingjay… you have more nicknames than anyone else here. I'm just 'that psycho who smiled while she killed people', it doesn't sound _nearly _as catchy as any of yours."

I laugh, mildly uncomfortable but unsure of what else to do, "I think I would prefer to be just Katniss."

"Well 'Just Katniss', I can't remember the last time I was just Jo, and not 'Johanna Mason, District 7 Victor'! So good luck with that goal."

"Thanks," I grumble as we continue step by step down the stairs and into the basement training center. I still don't know quite what to make of the crazed woman in front of me, there is that dream, for one. Where the hell did that come? I can't be having sex dreams about other victor-tributes when I'm about to go into the games with them! That is _not _healthy. As for being her ally, sure she seems more stable this morning—but does that mean that I want to form an alliance with her, trust her with Peeta's life?

"Look," she says, ruffling her own short hair, "I know I'm supposed to leave it to Haymitch to convince you to align with Finn and me, but I'm not great at being in the background. So here's the deal, we want to align with you. Finnick and I can kill better than most, and he can fish if there's fish to be found. You're the expert at survival—which we're both rubbish at, and having someone who can play sniper would be extremely handy. No promises for the end result, but I can guarantee I won't kill you right away and that when I do, I won't make it particularly painful."

"You're straight forward, aren't you?"

She just shrugs, "I played the game last time, but by now, everyone already knows me, so why hide?"

I consider her offer for a moment. She seems to be telling the truth, but would I know if she wasn't? "What about Peeta?" I ask carefully.

Johanna rolls her eyes, "Let's be real, he's not useful in the arena—we both know that. But Finn and I get that you two are a team so we're willing to offer him the same deal. Only catch, if he slows us down, we aren't waiting for him. We won't kill him, we'll just leave him, got it?"

I nod, that seems fairly reasonable, and realistic. If I can just put up with their grating personalities, something which is becoming easier with Johanna already, I think we could have an alright arrangement. "I'll talk to Peeta," I tell her, "And we'll let you know."

I reach for the doorknob and am about to leave when Johanna grabs it first, "Oh, and Katniss? Don't try and be my star-crossed lover, kay? I don't think the sponsors will take to that a second time." With a wink she is through the door and I'm left staring after the dark haired woman with, what I don't doubt is a laughable expression on my face.

Haymitch is right. These games _are _going to be different.

* * *

**Thanks for reading, please review!**


	2. Chapter 2

I'm working at the knot tying station when Finnick approaches me, swiping the piece of rope which I've been toiling over for the last hour and happily finishing the knot. I close my eyes and take a breath, _temper Katniss, temper._

"Hello, Mr. O'Dair," I greet stiffly, but politely.

He grins mischievously at me and then swoops into a bow, "Always a pleasure, Miss. Everdeen!" he exclaims, glancing up at me. I just roll my eyes and pick up another piece of rope. He grins as he takes his own piece; it seems that he plans on making himself comfortable.

Much to my disdain, he refuses to leave after that point. He doesn't say anything, but he just sits at the knot station tying every type known to man, without any instruction of course. All the while he stares at me, and grins as I continually fumble my rope. I was doing better before he showed up.

I feel my face flushing, and I curse my complexion. Who cares was stupid Finnick thinks, I know how to tie these, I've been doing it for days. I realize how frustrated I am when I feel actual relief to hear Johanna snapping at Finnick as she crosses the room.

"Fishboy, what are you doing? Trying to ruin our chances? Cut the routine and act like an actual air-breather for a change. All you're accomplishing is annoying the shit out of the poor woman."

"Aw, she's not annoyed, Jo. Kat and I are getting on just fine," he says. I imagine that the smile he's throwing my way is meant to be charming, but I'm just mildly nauseated.

"It's Katniss, and no, we're not."

He frowns at my deadly expression, "Well, girl on fire, you really are different aren't you?"

Johanna just grins, "You bet she is, so get lost before you scare her off with your slimy personality." He shrugs and makes his way over to the combat section. Good, now Peeta can deal with him.

"He really isn't all that bad," she tells me, picking up her own piece of rope and beginning a careful knot. "It's all an act, when it comes down to he can be rather funny, and he's deathly loyal—he just doesn't always know when to turn it off. And seeing as how almost everyone prefers his crazy flirtatious personality, he's genuinely surprised when someone might prefer his actual thoughts."

I glance his way and see him teaching Peeta the basics of using a spear, "You would think he could take a hint though."

She just shrugs, "The Capitol fucks with us all," my first instinct is to duck—you don't say things like that, and you certainly don't say things like that here, but then I find myself smiling. They can't really hurt us here—not if they want us in their games. Besides, Johanna has always been the crazed uncontrollable victor, everyone knows that. The Capitol is more or less used to ignoring her ramblings. "I'll talk to him," she continues, "He's being brainless. He's not even interested in you, wouldn't touch you if you begged. His heart has been taken for years."

I look up at her quickly, _her_? Finnick is in love with Johanna? I did _not _expect that. But then she's laughing and I'm blushing, "Now who's being brainless. The two of you… not me. We're friends I suppose, but who would be in love with me?" She looks both ways and then whispers exaggeratedly, "Haven't you heard? I've killed people!"

I laugh, a real full laugh. That's the kind of jokes Gale and I used to make, before everything else. The kind of jokes that just fill you and make you not take things so seriously for a moment. It _is_ serious, it's so serious. This entire room is full of murderers, drug addicts, and alcoholics—and their all training to kill each other, or be killed. There isn't anything funny about any of this, and yet when Johanna says that, with a small smirk and her wild eyes, suddenly our situation seems far more hilarious.

Peeta and Finnick hear our laughter and look towards us, along with most of the other victors, Peeta looks mildly nervous, seeing me cackling with a madwoman, but Finnick seems somehow calmer. Perhaps he knows that Johanna is saving them right now, she's the one winning me over—which is probably a rare occurrence between the two of them.

"You've got a sense of humor, Girl on Fire. Try not to lose it," she says to me with a grin, and happily produces a perfectly tied noose. "Look at me, I can make a noose…very useful in the Hunger Games…Well if you give me enough time, and someone doesn't mind sticking their head in it." She tosses it on the table.

She saunters away and I catch myself having that same dumbfounded expression that she seems to always leave me with. Strange woman.

* * *

It's several hours later when I finally leave the training center, hopping into the empty elevator I allow myself to relax and take off my mask. I don't have to be the Girl on Fire anymore tonight.

"Hey Katniss," a voice says from my left, and I jump. Finnick is standing there, hands crossed casually across his chest and a light smile playing on his lips. "Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you."

"It's fine, you didn't." I say quickly. "I just didn't realize anyone else was in here."

"Yea, I slipped in at the last moment. I swear I wasn't trying to freak you out," he says apologetically. He's looking at his feet, almost awkwardly. It looks like Johanna spoke to him. "Look, Katniss, I'm sorry about before—and yesterday. I just go into autopilot sometimes and, well most people like me that way. I didn't mean to give you the wrong impression or really make you uncomfortable. I'm really not that kind of person."

I nod slightly, trying to see past the Finnick that I have been watching on the television for all these years. The Finnick who covers the pages of every magazine in the Capitol. I try to see who he was before he became the youngest ever Hunger Games victor, and broke the record for the most kills. He still has an air of mischief about him, and a bit of arrogance. But he also seems to genuinely care that he's upset me, and there's a certain slight annoyance with himself for falling into that personality so easily.

"It's okay, Finnick," I say finally. "We all have our ways of coping."

He smiles, and I'm pleased to see that it holds none of the sleaze which his earlier grins projected. Maybe there is hope for fishboy. "I'm not upset," I continue, "And I'm going to talk to Peeta about an alliance. But either way, if we say no it isn't because of you."

He tilts his head curiously and studies me for a moment, "You're honestly worried about my reaction?" he asks perplexed. I just shrug. "You really are something else entirely, Katniss Everdeen. I'll see you tomorrow." He shakes his head and exits smoothly when the elevator stops on his floor.

* * *

Later that night, after a long shower and a lot of food, I sit down next to Peeta on the couch. "Okay," I tell him, "What are you thinking."

"Well, for one, that group is terrifying," he says, and I laugh. I can't argue with that one, "other than that, most of them seem like a decent enough bunch. I would obviously avoid Brutus and Enobria, and Gloss and Cashmere are a bit scary. I'm also not so sure about Johanna and Finnick—though both of their partners seem nice. I think you may have been right about the two of them, they're a bit off, don't you think?"

"I like them," I say plainly. "I think we should join up with them."

He stares at me as if I've suddenly sprouted tentacles, "Seriously? I assumed that after Johanna tore off her clothes, oiled up, and started wrestling you would be out! What convinced you?"

I shrug, and smirk slightly, "Johanna promised that she wouldn't kill us right away, and if she did have to kill us, she wouldn't prolong it…"

Peeta pales and I'm laughing again, when did I remember how to laugh? "Seriously though, Peeta. I think they're good and will be helpful. I also don't think they'll mess with us."

He sighs heavily, but I know he's going to agree with me. It's probably wrong, how easily I can sway him to my decisions, but in this case it is handy. I've made up my mind, and I want them—damn, that means Haymitch was right. He'll never let me live that down.

"Okay," he says, finally. "But I want Nuts and Volts too, if we can."

"Beetee and Wiress," I interrupt quietly.

He ignores me and continues, "They may not be great fighters, but they're brilliant in their own right."

"I agree, but I don't know if Johanna and Finnick will go for it."

"Make them, Katniss. They want us, not the other way around. Besides, have you seen Finnick with his partner, Mags?" I shake my head; I hadn't paid much attention, "Katniss, he does everything for her. I don't know why she volunteered, but if it's up to him, she is going to be with him every step of the way. If we've already got a crippled, eighty year old, deaf, mute tribute slowing down the group, I don't see how Beetee and Wiress can be objected to."

I can't argue with him, he's right. "I'll talk to them Peeta, that's all I can promise."

He nods and head for his room, I can tell he's still mildly unhappy with me. I know he doesn't like my choice of allies, and he's cold in general towards me. I thought it would burn out over time, but he seems to just be growing more and more distant.

Grabbing a bag of almonds, I head up towards the roof. I don't feel like going to bed, but I also don't feel like spending the evening with Effie and Haymitch. Those two are exhausting on their own, let alone when you lock them in the same room. As I open the door I smile slightly, thinking of the last time I was here—nearly a year ago, when Peeta didn't mind dying, but didn't want to be a part of their game.

I didn't really understand him then, not fully. But I do now. Death doesn't scare me, but being used to endanger my friends and family, being forced to kill, forced to live in a certain way? That scares me. The idea that they can tell me to marry Peeta, to have children, to have 1 child, three children—whatever they want. That scares me. They can use me for whatever they please, and I have no say in the matter.

I toss an almond at the force field and catch it in my mouth, trying to focus my mind elsewhere. Peeta and I had started the game the year before, and I had found that the mildly charred nuts were rather addictive.

I continue on for a while, lost in my own musings, when suddenly I feel a presence behind me, "You know, you probably should have chosen that as your talent. It's more believable than your 'fashion line'," It's only been a day and I find I'm becoming accustomed to that voice and can identify it without turning around at this point.

"Because your ballroom dancing was so believable?" I laugh, and turn around to find her smiling. She must have just escaped her own shower, her hair is plastered to her head and she is wearing only a tank top and a pair of men's sweatpants.

"Once upon a time, before the Hunger Games, I did want to be a dancer," she explains, and I take a seat on the wall, listening intently. "My grandmother would tell me stories about the days way before the rebellion, she was completely ancient," she laughs, "she told me about things other than the politics though—everyone is always focused on the politics. She talked about old movies and music and art, about things from before her time even. She told me stories about women in elegant costumes who could dance so lightly that their feet scarcely touched the floor."

She looks down then, playing with the hem of her shirt, "It's silly, I know. But I was always fascinated by the idea. There are still dancers here in the capitol, but it's nothing like it used to be—the dancing, and the costumes, and the music—it's all different."

"That sounds beautiful," I tell her, keeping my voice soft, somehow this seems like a moment for soft voices, like we're discussing something sacred.

She shrugs, "Well that was before my Hunger Games, before I killed those kids, and before my Gran passed. That was before a lot of things. When they told me that dancing would be my talent—they thought it would make me more likable, less scary—I told them they could suck it. But I didn't really have a choice. So I did it. That was the last thing I did for the Capitol."

The idea chills. Openly telling the Capitol no? Telling them that I won't do as they say? I know what the results would be and I can't imagine ever making that decision. "You just stopped?" I ask, perplexed.

She nods lightly, leaning back to look at the stars—you can't really see them here, but I suppose even just the faintest of glimmers is comforting. "There were consequences—lots of them. Admittedly, I don't know if I would have fought them if I had realized, but I'm my own person now. I haven't pissed them off or broken the rules so much that they're willing to kill a victor, well not until now apparently."

My heart drops, "Jo, that has nothing to do with you. They're doing that because of me, because of what I've done. You can't blame yourself."

She looks at my sympathetically, brushes a hair from my eyes. My heart unexpectedly picks up speed, "Katniss, you're wonderful—you really are, but you've got to get it through you thick skull. This isn't all about you." I try to interrupt but she quirks and eyebrow at me and I'm smart enough to quiet. "You may have pulled out the berries, yea, that was a big thing. But you also got away with that. You played the game from that point on. The rest of us didn't."

"What do you mean?" I ask, and she laughs.

"Haymitch really doesn't tell you anything at all, does he? Katniss, very few of the victors have been left alone this year. Most of us are under house arrest, I was being kept in the Justice Building basement for a while. We're being threatened and harassed, and our families are having mysterious accidents. All because our districts aren't listening to the Capitol anymore, and we're not quieting them.

"I think that the Morphlings have been pretty much left alone, because they aren't affecting anything. And Finnick plays nice, but he's not willing to risk the people he loves, understandably. Besides, he's been playing the game so long, I think when he finally stops he's going to have a breakdown. Other than that, nearly all of the victors are causing trouble—goodness knows I have," she grins. "So stop worrying that this is entirely your fault, you are the most behaved out of all of us."

I'm in complete shock, and I know that I'm worrying Johanna when a few minutes go by without me saying anything. I just don't know what to say. The entire country is apparently in rebellion, and no one had informed me. I mean sure, I had heard about 8, and rumors about 4, but nothing like this.

"This is really happening," I say, and she nods.

"So will you align with me?" she whispers, and I smile. Trick question.

Still, it doesn't matter what question I'm answering, it's all the same, "Yes."

She smiles, "So in the games?"

"Peeta and I are in," I tell her, forcing myself back to our current reality. We aren't rebelling right now—there are no choices right now. "He wants Beetee and Wiress as well."

She rolls her eyes predictably, "Fine, but they get the same deal as Peeta. If they can't keep up, we leave them behind."

"And Mags?" I ask, and she grins.

"Oh, I see. He saw the two of them, and made some assumptions—figured if we would slow down for her, we'll slow down for the lot of you. Poor bread boy, he's so dim. He's seen them talk, and work, and eat—he hasn't seen how they can move together. Mags won't slow us down; in fact, I doubt your Peeta can keep up with that old broad."

I look at her questioningly, but she just shakes her head, smiling, "Just don't worry about old Mags, and tell Nuts and Volts to keep up."

"Deal."

We sit for several more minutes, and I teach Johanna about the force field and the nuts, she's amused, and when I disappear back to my floor, claiming a desperate need for sleep, I leave them with her.

* * *

**Thanks for reading, and I hope you continue. Please review and let me know what you think!**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: I'm so grateful for all of the support I've gotten over the last 24 hours! I may not be hearing from you, but each email I receive about your following and favoriting causes an extra bounce in my step! Please please please consider reviewing! I would love to hear from you, and hear where you are hoping this is going. Have a lovely evening!**

**Oh, and I don't hold a claim to any of these characters or situations, I just enjoy toying with their emotions.**

* * *

The next day, we have to perform for our individual evaluations and I find myself sitting in the stuffy room with no idea as to what I should do. "Just shoot," Peeta tells me, "That's your greatest skill."

I just roll my eyes; they already know I can shoot. All of Panem knows I can shoot. I'm in love with Peeta and I can shoot—that is who I am. I need something different, I need to surprise them again. But how can I do that?

The other tributes look just as perplexed, Finnick is whispering quickly to Mags and she keeps shaking her head at him. I feel as if they will be impressed if she can even walk across the room without help, but Finnick? He's like me. He has skills, but they already know all of them. After 11 years in the spotlight, what can he do to surprise them?

Beetee and Wiress seem to be discussing some sort of mechanism that he wants to build, I suppose if anyone can surprise the game makers it would be them, that or—"Good Morning, Sunshine!"

Johanna.

I smile slightly; yes, she will undoubtedly surprise them somehow. "Hi Johanna, how are you today?" I ask politely. I think about our conversations the night before and I'm worried that we're talking too much, becoming too close. I know that she is going to die. I know that we're both going to die. And I know that I don't want to be the one to kill her.

She's looking at me, and I can't help but wonder if she can read my thoughts, she stares so sadly in my eyes, her eyebrows slightly furrowed. She starts to speak, but seems to think better of it and changes her tactic, "So what are you planning on doing in there?"

Peeta pipes up from next to me, "I don't think we're allowed to talk about that."

She just laughs, "Oh I see, and what exactly are they going to do about it? Kill us?"

I look at my hands, "Our families," I say quietly.

She takes one of my hands, "Katniss, your family is perfectly safe. They can't hurt them as long as you're in here, because they need them for the show—If the Capitol really wants a revolt, they should hurt your sister, that would do it—so while you're in here, you're safe. And once we're in there… well, they're safe then too, aren't they? There is no point in hurting any of them once they have you in the game."

Staring into her eyes, I realize she's serious, and she's right. "Oh my god," I whisper.

"Katniss, you aren't really going to listen to this?" Peeta asks, "It isn't worth the risk!"

"Peeta, she's right. They're safe. For the first time in a year, my family is safe!"

"So now tell me, what are you going to do in there?" she asks again, and I just shrug. I feel like an idiot admitting that I don't know what I'm going to do yet, that I'm absolutely clueless.

"I—I don't know yet."

"Eh, don't worry about it, girl on fire. It's not like these evaluations even matter that much this time—everyone already knows what you can do." I nod again, and she squeezes my shoulder as she moves towards where Finnick is sitting, probably to ask him the same question.

Peeta looks at me closely, "You _like _her, don't you?" he asks, and I can't stop myself from coughing slightly in surprise.

"What? No, I'm just aligning with her. She's crazy, obviously." I say, not meeting his eyes. The words sound hollow even to my ears.

"Katniss, we can't befriend these people and we can't trust them. They're not like us—Johanna Mason won't hesitate to kill us when the time comes."

My stomach drops, I want to fight him, I want to yell and hit and storm away, but I know he's right. I am growing soft towards Johanna, and Finnick too I suppose. I don't want to kill anyone, and spending extended amounts of time with Johanna is just making that worse.

I also know that she will kill us, she'll do what she needs to do to survive, and I don't fault her that. I wonder if they're aligning with us because they know I won't want to kill them? Because we're weak.

Peeta is still looking at me as if I'm mental, "I'm sorry," I apologize, "I'll try to back off a bit."

"I'm sorry, Katniss. I didn't mean to upset you, I just-"

"No. You're right, Peeta. I was getting to close to her, to both of them, and that isn't going to work in this game."

We sit in silence until our names are called, and I can feel the steel building up around me. I have to stay alive. I have to keep Peeta alive. Those are the goals, those are the _only_ goals.

But when my name is called and I walk into that room alone, I feel all of my walls tumble right back down. In front of me sit the Game Maker's, and to the right of me, is a wall which has obviously failed to be washed off from one of the prior victors. I feel a smile playing at my lips, because I know who did this.

A roughly drawn stick figure of a man is painted on the wall; he has a beaklike nose, and lips dripping blood. Around the body is a message, which several Avoxes are scrubbing desperately at. It reads, "You will never own me." As if all of this is not enough, a hatchet is buried six inches into the padded wall—just between the president's eyes.

I look back towards the Game Maker's and they look angry, it seems the evaluations are not going as they had hoped.

Seeing Johanna's message on the wall somehow strengthens me, and I know that Peeta is still right, but I don't care anymore. I will not kill these people, not when they've been fighting with me.

I know exactly what I have to do as I pull out one of the bows and a sheath of arrows. There are six arrows in the sheath. I fire three of them at the target, hitting perfectly. Then I turn quickly and shoot the remaining three. One in each of President Snow's eyes, and one directly in his heart.

Turning back to the Game Maker's I see them frowning at me again, and Plutarch Heavensbee giving me a probing stare. "Thank you, Miss. Everdeen. That will be quite enough," he says, and I drop the bow to the ground, leaving quickly.

Peeta is going to be angry with me again.

* * *

I'm sitting on the couch, calmly thumbing through a magazine when Peeta storms in.

"What the hell were you thinking?" He shouts, and I'm surprised because I've never heard him shout at anyone. "I go in there, all ready to be behaved and… you know, not get killed, and what do I see but an assassinated painting of President Snow? Are you _suicidal_?!"

I find myself chuckling as I think for a moment, am I? I mean, I suppose I am actively planning on dying over the next week or so, but does that really make a person suicidal? It's not like I want to die, I just want him to live. "No," I say slowly, "And in my defense, I didn't paint the picture…or do the ax. I just added the arrows."

He flops down on the opposite couch and runs a frustrated hand through his hair, "Just added the arrows," he mutters to himself.

Haymitch comes out of his room and is looking between the two of us and then back at me, "What did I miss, sweetheart?"

"I helped to assassinate President Snow, no big deal."

Peeta groans and I smirk slightly. Haymitch laughs as Peeta explains exactly what he found at his evaluation. He looks back at me, "Let me guess, Johanna?"

I smirk, "That's my assumption."

Peeta just shakes his head at the two of us, "What happened, Katniss? You went in there, and I thought you were back in the game, I thought you had refocused."

I sigh, I know I have to tell Peeta the truth, but he isn't going to be pleased. Things have changed. "Peeta, I had refocused, but I was focused on the wrong things. You're right, Johanna and Finnick are going to try and kill us—eventually. But they aren't what I care about. I care about fighting back, and I care about telling the capitol that I'm not their puppet. I'm going to die no matter what, I might as well cause a bit of trouble before I go."

"You're not going to die!" he shouts, and I just smile slightly at him, "No, Katniss. You don't get to give me that little patronizing smile—I know how to read you, I'm not stupid. There is _no_ reason to think you're going to die. You're in great shape, you can fight, you can shoot, and you know how to survive. You are also brilliant and extremely popular. You have a real chance here, but you're ruining that by pissing off all the wrong people!"

"Peeta, I don't care about any of that! I don't care if they kill me off, and I don't care if I'm popular. I just want to be free!" I shout, and he seems to deflate entirely.

"Fine," he says finally, this time his voice dropping in tone as he walks towards his room. "Go be free."

The magazine I was reading goes swiftly pelting across the room, smacking against the wall loudly. Haymitch just smiles at me, "You about finished, sweetheart?"

I glare at him, "He isn't done, is he? He's going to keep fighting to keep me alive, to make them love me."

"I couldn't stop him even if I wanted," Haymitch says with a shrug.

"But you don't want to."

He shakes his head, "No, no I don't. I'm not quite ready to give up on you yet."

I cover my face with my hands for a moment, bending over and taking a deep breath. "Do you think what I'm doing is wrong?"

I glance up and he's shaking his head at me, he takes a sip from a glass on the table. "I think that the worst thing Peeta could do is make that Audience all the more angry when you die… stir up a bit of trouble even after you're gone. I don't think that's going to hurt you or anyone else. As for your trouble, I don't know that I'm happy—but then again, I'm hardwired to try and keep you alive at this point. This suicide mission you're on? Not fantastic. But the trouble you're causing?" He throws back the rest of the drink, "You know I'm always up for causing a bit of trouble."

I grin widely at him, "You understand?"

"Sweetheart, there are few people who would understand better."

* * *

**Thanks for reading! Please Review!**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Thank you all for the glorious reviews! They made my night/day, and actually inspired me to change how I originally ended it a bit. We'll probably even get a few extra chapters out of it. So thank you for letting me hear from you, and I hope you enjoy this next installment!**

**Oh, and I don't own the hunger games or any of the characters, I just enjoy toying with their emotions.**

* * *

The following night I find myself weighed down by the over whelming Capitol gown which Cinna designed. It's beautiful, but it isn't me, and he knows that. This was what the president wanted, not me or Cinna.

"It's beautiful," I tell him, but he just frowns.

"It's a work of art, but it isn't yours. You deserve more, so much more than what you are being forced into. It's perfection—but it isn't the dress of the girl on fire." He continues to fluff fabric and straighten silk, but he is obviously unhappy. He doesn't like being used for their games any more than I do.

I hear her voice before I see her, "A wedding dress? Really?"

Something in her voice sends my emotions surging forward, but I push back the bile in my throat and the tears in my eyes—she can't know, no one can know how much this is killing me. "It's out of our hands; the _president's _orders."

I can see the disgust on her face as she looks over the garment, "Make him pay," she whispers frigidly, walking away quickly, her own lace gown trailing behind her. As Cinna finishes, I watch the other victor's speak. I'm surprised to see how many of them are openly defying the capitol—it looks like Johanna was right, I'm not the only one being punished. It seems like we've all be causing our share of trouble.

When Johanna walks on stage, the audience seems about ready to explode. 12 Tributes have already broken their hearts and riled them up, and now the most controversial of all is taking the stage, looking like an Angel of death.

Dark brown lace covers her entire body, gracefully trailing behind her. I don't doubt that her stylist was attempting to make her look like a tree again, but she has obviously added her own touches—her short dark hair is spiked ominously and her eyes are lined with think ebony makeup. She looks severe, threatening, and—dare I say it—sexual.

"Johanna!" Ceaser greets, and she smiles politely at him, "It's lovely to see you again, though under such terrible circumstances. How are you feeling about this year's games, confident? Worried?"

She grins frighteningly, "I would say I'm fairly confident in my abilities, and I'm excited that I don't have to pretend to be anything other than myself this year—no surprise twist, I'm just me, and I'm ready to fight."

Ceaser smiles dazzlingly, relieved to finally have another victor who is responding in the acceptable way. "Now tell me Johanna, you and Katniss Everdeen are the only tributes from Districts with only one female victor—how did you feel when you watched the Quarter Quell announcement—when you knew that you would be coming back into the arena?"

"Well, I was horrified at first," she admits, showing a rare moment of vulnerability. "Here is this place that I've tried to keep firmly in my nightmares—that I've spent years trying to convince myself can't hurt me anymore—and apparently that was all a lie. I'm being dragged back into my most horrifying of nightmares, and it's not a pleasant feeling," she explains, but then she grins a bit again.

"But then did what I usually do, I got angry—I got really fucking pissed, Ceaser. When I won my games, I was guaranteed safety, and security. That was my reward for killing all of those children—my reward for the daily torment which I experience. I was supposed to grow old and fat in my cushy home. But now I'm not. The Capitol is frightened of what's happening, and so they're dragging all of us back into that god forsaken arena—and they are going to pay for that mistake, Ceaser. They are going to pay.

"If they think they can just mess with people's lives, people's fucking families, they've got another thing coming, Ceaser. This is all going to bite them firmly in the ass, and I just hope that I win these games, so I can watch it all burn."

By that point Ceaser had been desperately trying to interrupt Johanna, but her voice was strong and unwavering—it held the whole Capitol entranced and Ceaser couldn't manage to interrupt. When she finally stopped he just clapped his hands, "Alright! Johanna Mason everyone, our ever feisty, ever unpredictable, Victor-Tribute from District 7!"

Johanna gives a sweeping bow as she exits and the crowd is eerily silent. As usual, they don't quite know what to make of the Victor who is so incredibly different from them.

The rest of the victors aren't nearly as memorable, and if it wasn't for this ridiculous dress, I doubt I would be either. Johanna has, without question, stolen the show. Luckily—I've got Cinna in my corner. Effie and my beauty team are already in tears over my dress and, 'What a beautiful bride I would have made.' I'm just trying not to puke.

By the time my name is called I feel as if I'm going to faint, but Peeta squeezes my hand and I see the slight smile of Johanna being sent my way, I force my feet to move towards the stage.

"Katniss Everdeen, the Girl on Fire!" Ceaser shouts as I attempt to gracefully cross the stage. The audience gasps as they see the gown, several of them are openly crying for me.

"Katniss, you look absolutely stunning," Ceaser tells me, "If I may, is this the dress which you would have been wearing had you been able to marry Peeta, as planned?"

I nod tearfully, "Yes, Ceaser. This was going to be my wedding gown—until this whole tragedy began." He pats my hand comfortingly.

"Now tell us Katniss, how did you feel when you found out about the games? Like, Miss Mason, you were the only tribute for your district—what was your reaction?"

"I was horrified," I tell him honestly. "I had thought I was safe, that my family was safe—that Peeta was safe. To have this happen, is the worst nightmare I could imagine. I'm heartbroken, and angry."

"As are we, Katniss—and to have you back in the arena with Peeta again…"

I sigh heavily, "Peeta Is my best friend. Above all else, that's true. We've experienced something which only a handful of people can understand. To lose him would destroy me. He doesn't deserve this sort of ending. He deserved a life, and a family. Everything he's dreamed of."

"And what about your family, Katniss? How are they coping," he asks carefully. It seems that the capitol cares less about my game this time, and more about my family—well that makes my answers all the more simple. I don't have to lie.

"I wouldn't know," I say, my whole persona freezing over. Ceaser takes a step back, feeling the chill which has engulfed me.

"Excuse me?" He asks, searching for clarification.

"I wasn't allowed to say goodbye to them—to my mother, or my little sister Prim. I wanted to tell them I love them, to make sure that Prim doesn't feel guilty about everything I've gone through—make sure she knows it isn't her fault. But the Capitol denied me that final good bye, those final moments with the people I love. They seem to be denying me a lot lately—my life not being the worst of it all."

Ceaser interrupts, and I allow him—I almost feel bad for him, trying to help us and simultaneously keep himself alive. "That is tragic, Katniss. But who knows, maybe you'll be coming back! There's always a bit of hope."

I look at my feet, and then back towards the cameras. "I'm afraid not, Ceaser. This is goodbye for me. Peeta will be coming home when this is all over, and I will kill _anyone_ who may stop that from happening—myself included."

The crowds gasps, and desperate cries are being heard as my closing music sounds. "Well—I know that we all hope that isn't the case, Miss. Everdeen," He desperately grasps at the hope that he can take control of this interview again, "If I may, Katniss, could we beg one last twirl from you? Just to see the full effect of the gown?"

I smile again, showing the strength that Ceaser is hoping for, "Of course Ceaser, I thought you'd never ask!"

Then I do as he asks, I turn for them. I turn for them as I have every other time on this stage, and just as I have every other time, I'm in flames again. Yet these aren't the same tame little flames that I've encountered so many times before. These are new, and Cinna has out done himself this time. As quickly as it began the flames extinguish themselves, and I'm left standing before the crowd, my wedding gown gone, and in its place a sleek black gown, adorned with feathers and intricate beading—but most magnificent of all, are the two glorious black wings, extended out across the full length of my arms.

Cinna has turned me into a Mockingjay.

Ceaser knows immediately that this will _not _be popular with the president, and he is stumbling over his words, "Thank—Thank you, Katniss Everdeen! Our District 12 Victor-Tribute, and the Girl on Fire!"

I make my way off stage and Haymitch is shaking his head at me, "Very risky, sweet heart."

"And to think, I've only just begun," I grin.

* * *

It's much later when I find myself on the roof again, armed with several of Haymitch's bottles of liquor. I don't know what I'm drinking, but I know that I've drank enough that the taste no longer bothers me.

"_If it wasn't for the baby."_

I gulp down another swig of the liquor as the words pound in my head. A baby. That was Peeta's big plan—a baby?!

Now everyone thinks I'm pregnant. They think I'm _married _and pregnant. My mother, my sister, Gale—they'll all think that I'm pregnant. Maybe not Prim—she may know better. But my mother won't, she'll believe every word, and Gale—Gale will be furious.

"Please tell me you're not really sitting up here—drinking Haymitch's liquor?"

I jump when I hear her voice, the liquor seems to have numbed my senses and I don't know when she arrived. "I am, and I have more than enough to share, have a bottle!"

She catches the bottle I throw and just as quickly shatters it against the wall, causing me to shrink away. Her eyes are cold, and I have no idea what I've done to piss her off, but she looks about ready to kill. "What's your problem?" I say, trying (unsuccessfully) to keep the tremble out of my voice.

"My problem?" she snips, "My problem is that you were dumb enough to get yourself knocked up. Really, with everything else that is going on right now? Jesus Christ. And _despite_ all that you are sitting here _boozing _yourself into oblivion when you know damn well what kind of effect that has on a kid! Your mom is a doctor, right? So you have to have seen those kids? What the fuck is your problem, Everdeen?"

My trembling has subsided and now I am caught somewhere between shocked, and amused. Shocked, because she seems to actually give a damn about what happens to me and to my supposed unborn child, and amused because she doesn't realize that it's all complete bollocks.

"Johanna," I start carefully, but it seems she isn't quite done ranting.

"Don't Johanna me, Everdeen! Just try and stop being so damned stupid."

"Johanna!" I yell, I'm no longer amused, now I'm just pissed off, and somehow mildly hurt. _You shouldn't be able to be hurt by people who are planning on killing you in the next few days… _"I'm not pregnant you dolt, and if you would have shut up for a moment I would have told you that."

I take another gulp of the liquid in my hand and I glance back at her, she looks mildly uncomfortable. "I'm, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have assumed, I just—I saw red, I guess . Sorry."

I'm surprised, she can't be the type to apologize easily, and yet she's doing just that. "Johanna, you have to know that I'm smarter than that?"

She smiles unhappily and nods, "I know you are—I'm sorry. I officially suck. Now, hand me a bottle, kitten."

I grin and hand her a bottle, "Besides, how the hell would I have become pregnant—Peeta? I wouldn't touch him with a ten foot pole."

She snorts, and clutches her nose, "Ow that burns," she says with a giggle. "You mean to tell me that is a lie too? I mean—I knew that you two weren't nearly as in love as the Capitol made you out to be, but I assumed you were at least screwing."

I shiver; I don't think I knew just how much that idea disgusted me until right now. "No. Really no. No, no, no." I chant. "He's like—like a friend. Just a friend. Being with him, like that? Never. I'm queen of the virgins, and will happily stay so if that's my only option."

She laughs again, "Seriously, girl on fire? A virgin? That's just depressing."

I blush crimson, I hadn't meant to say that, "Hey, I'm only 18; it's not that unheard of. Besides, between the starving family, the hunger games, and being engaged to the bread boy—when was I supposed to be having sex?"

She smiles fully now, and just shakes her head drinking happily from her own bottle, "Well now you simply _have_ to live, can't have you dying a virgin, now can we?"

That's when it actually hits me, for the first time fully. I am going to die a virgin. I'm never going to have sex, or get married, I'm never going to hunt again or braid Prim's hair. I'm never going to sing her to sleep again. I don't know when I started crying, and it's so uncharacteristic that even I'm surprised.

Johanna just stares at me for a moment, jaw slack, unsure of how to respond. She's apologizing quickly, and I suddenly find myself wrapped firmly in her arms as I sob uncontrollably. In the last several years I've only cried a handful of times, and I don't quite know where this came from, but I've suddenly realized how much I don't want to die. You would think that would be obvious to a person, but with everything going on, I've just been pretty numb to the whole thing.

I may not want to _live_—not in the circumstances that I'm currently strapped to, but I don't want to die either. I just want to wake up from this nightmare, to find that I'm back in the Seam with my parents and my little sister—I want my Dad to tell me it was all just a bad dream, but I know that isn't going to happen.

"It's alright, Katniss, you're going to be alright," Johanna is whispering in my ear, and I'm finding myself far too comforted by the young woman whose arms are currently trapping me. She smells like some strange mixture of lemon and pine, and is surprisingly warm for such a small person. Most of all, I'm surprised that she's doing this at all. She knows as well as I do that tomorrow morning begins the end. Even if we both make it to the end of the game—one of us won't go home. Yet here she is, holding me as if none of that matters, as if she cares.

"Why are you being so nice to me," I whisper, my voice cracking.

I feel her sigh as she gently brushes my hair with her fingertips, "Because I care about you."

"But tomorrow…"

She shakes her head, "I don't want to think about tomorrow. Everything else aside, I care about you and I don't want you to hurt anymore. You don't deserve that," I feel her breath gently tickling my ear as she whispers; "I wish I had met you so much sooner, Katniss."

I lean back to look at her and I find that her eyes are filled with tears too. She doesn't seem like the type to show weakness, to show emotions, but I suppose if ever there was a time for emotions, it's now. I gently cup her face, wiping away a stray tear with my thumb. "Thank you," I whisper.

Without a moment to consider the consequences, I place my lips against hers—gently, carefully, and full of fear—I kiss her. I pull back almost immediately—unsure of myself, of her, of this world, but before I can fully take a breath I feel her own lips back on mine.

There's more confidence in her kiss, more experience, but I can tell that she's scared too. This isn't the alcohol, or the feeling two people have when they know it's their last day on earth—this is something else entirely. Something neither of us really know anything about.

Despite our fears we both quickly lose ourselves to the passion of our kiss, her tiny hands pull me ever closer and my fingers run through her short hair. I had been waiting for this moment for days, without even realizing it. Desperately counting down to the moment when I could touch her, feel her, smell her. Wishing for the moment when I could tell her exactly how I feel—show her.

When her hands move under my shirt I don't hesitate to lift my arms, and leave it crumpled on the floor. I'm not wearing a bra, having forgone it hours ago when I put on the pajamas, and she grins against my lips, her hands gracefully slide over the curve of my waist and her torturous fingers graze lightly over my breasts.

I moan loudly and she reacts by grinding her hips against my own. Bringing my hands to her thighs, I delight in the smooth expanse of skin which I find—she's opted for shorts this evening, and nothing else.

That knowledge, combined with the fact that her lips have suddenly found the pressure point on my neck, have me desperate to touch her—to feel her writhing and hear her moaning deliciously. Just as I allow one courageous finger to slide along the very edge of her folds the door to the roof opens and a whole string of profanities let loose in my mind.

Haymitch just stands, eyebrows raised and eyes wide—it seems I've finally managed to shock him.

"Sorry, kitten, it looks like we'll have to continue this another time," Johanna whispers, kissing me soundly on the mouth. "I'll see you tomorrow," she finishes, a note of sadness in her voice as she escapes past Haymitch and into the stairwell.

"Well then," Haymitch says finally. "I guess I found my booze…and the added bonus of why you suddenly decided to be allies."

I pull on my shirt quickly, only blushing slightly—the capitol has numbed me to such things. "This wasn't a _thing _until just now—thank you. It took me just as much by surprise as you."

"Somehow I doubt that, sweetheart."

"Fuck." I swear, the whole situation catching up with me quickly. I find the bottle I had pushed aside only minutes before and take a long drink as Haymitch continues to watch me. "Please stop looking at me like that," I snap.

He just shrugs, "I'll work on it, but that isn't going to be an image which quickly leaves my memory—and in comparison to most of the other mental images I have… can't say I'm complaining."

"You're disgusting."

"This is going to make things more difficult, you know that, right?" I sigh, he actually sounds concerned.

"Not really," I say honestly. "I had already realized I cared about her as a friend—I already didn't even want to consider the idea of her death. That hasn't changed. And I still have to save Peeta—that hasn't changed either."

"It's sure as hell going to make things more difficult for her," he sighs, "She doesn't open up to most people—and the way she's been lookin' at you… You should know, Peeta may not be the only person who's trying to keep you alive in there."

I swear under my breath, and he just continues to look at me. "I don't know how to do this, Haymitch." And it's true. I don't know how to kill these people, and I don't know how to die, and I certainly don't know how to watch her die. It only took half a moment for me to realize just how much I care about her. I can't even say I'm surprised, though I certainly should be. I just wish I had met her sooner—so much sooner. But that wish doesn't change anything.

We're not living in a fairytale; we're living in the Capitol. True love doesn't mean that the politics disappear and you're suddenly given a do-over. It just means that everything hurts more.

Luckily, Haymitch doesn't ask me to clarify. I think he knows, he understands. We've always been able to read each other like that.

"It'll be alright," he says after a moment; I know he doesn't believe that. And he knows that I know, but he also knows that I appreciate the gesture.

I just nod, "We should get to bed—I want to be bright and fresh in the morning. Wouldn't want to be tired when I go off to my death." He smirks slightly, and helps me stand up.

"Come on, Sweetheart. Let's get you to bed."

* * *

**Thanks for reading and if you have a moment, please let me know what you think! I'm a bit nervous about this chapter, so I very much hope you enjoyed it!**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Let the 75th Annual Hunger Games Begin... **

**This whole section is a bit nerve wracking for me, so I hope that it reads alright. I've never written in the arena before. Let me know what you think and thank you for all of your support so far!**

* * *

It's 9 o'clock when my alarm clock sounds, and my eyes open without hesitation. I haven't slept, and I'm almost grateful. If I don't sleep, I don't dream. And without the dreams to cloud my consciousness, I'm not nearly as afraid.

I sit up carefully, pushing the escaped strands of hair back behind my ears, and I take a breath. One deep, clean breath.

It's odd how rarely a person appreciates a fresh breath of air, a breath which isn't rushed or desperate, a breath which they know full well will not be their last. For the first time in my life, I appreciate that breath of air.

But then the pounding sets in and I hear Haymitch on the other side of the door, "Wake up, sweetheart. Otherwise I'll have to send Effie to remind you of your _'big, big, day'_!"

"I'm coming," I croak, surprised by my pained vocal chords. It must be from all of the whiskey.

I don't bother getting dressed, much to Effie's chagrin. I pull on a pair of shorts, a tank top, and tie my hair in a knot on the back of my head. Either way, they'll change my whole outfit before I'm on camera, so why should I bother?

As I enter the dining room I try not to cringe. Peeta is staring out the window, eyes completely blank—I don't want to imagine what he's going through right now. He's going into the arena, and he's going in with the person he loves most. I shudder slightly; I wish he didn't love me like he does.

It's going to kill him in there.

But then I realize, it's going to kill me as well, isn't it? My sisterly affection towards him is what's driving me forward—not to mention my feelings for Johanna. With the two of them in there, I can't even consider walking out alive. I couldn't do it.

I toast a bagel, and stare into my orange juice. Maybe if I just ignore them I can forget for a moment. Unfortunately, Haymitch places a hand on my shoulder and whispers, "Can I borrow you for a moment?" I nod numbly, and follow him into his room.

I'm surprised at just how clean it is, especially considering his house in 12, but I suppose having a maid helps. "Look Katniss, I know that you want Peeta to win," he begins, and I nod. "And I know that if he can't win, you would choose Johanna."

I open my mouth to protest, but he cuts me off quickly, "Don't bullshit with me, Sweetheart. I know you, and I can read you. We're good at that. I _know _that you would save her if you could."

"Fine, yes, I would. But I have to put Peeta first."

He looks pained for a moment, and takes a breath, "Katniss, I lied to you."

My eyebrows furrow automatically, Haymitch doesn't lie to me—that is part of why we work so well together. Brutal honesty. I tell him he's a drunk, he tells me I have all the charm of an inebriated slug, and we get along just fine. Why would he lie to me now?

"What about?" I whisper.

"Peeta and Johanna—they're both bent on saving you, they're both in love with you," he tells me, and I just nod. I know all this already; we talked about it last night. "Well, I am too, kid."

I take a stumbling step back, "Excuse me?" I squeak.

"Oh god, no! I'm not in _love _with you, Everdeen. Get over yourself," he snaps, "I'm betting on you to win, is all. I'm going to try and keep you alive, try and save you. It has nothing to do with affection, I like you and all, but it's not like that. You're what Panem needs right now—not anyone else. And you're the most likely to win. I _have _to bet on you."

"Haymitch, you promised me. You promised me you would try to bring him home. Whatever it takes!"

"I lied," he growls.

I don't understand, I shake my head blearily, trying to clear it, trying to find the missing piece, "Why are you telling me this?"

He sighs heavily, and runs his hand through his hair, "Because I don't want the last words I say to you to be a lie. I can't promise you'll survive, but I don't want to lie and promise that you won't. I'm going to be doing everything I can."

"I don't want that," I whisper desperately, can't he understand? "Haymitch, I'm okay with dying, but I can't lose them, I can't let him die!"

"I'm sorry, sweetheart," He says unhappily, "I do understand, but it's just the way it has to be."

"No!" I shout, preparing to fight him more. But at that moment Peeta knocks on the door.

"Guys?" He calls quietly, "They're here for us, we have to go."

Haymitch just closes his eyes, and then pulls me to him, hugging me tightly. It's incredibly uncharacteristic, but not unwelcome. I may be furious with him, but he still matters to me. "Just remember who the enemy is, Katniss," he whispers, "Never forget who the real enemy is."

He whispers it quickly and quietly, so quiet that I could almost have been imagining it, but before I can respond he's pulled away and walked out the door. I follow quietly, and Peeta meets me at the elevator. He takes my hand, and I know it isn't a sign of romance, not this time. He just understands what I'm feeling, for once. He understands the desperate need for human contact.

He doesn't let go of my hand until we are sent off with our stylists. Then he just squeezes it ever so slightly and walks away. No grand sweeping goodbye, just a small gesture, a sign of friendship, and it's perfect.

It's the first time that I feel like we've truly been friends, been close, since this whole nightmare started.

* * *

_This is no place for a girl on fire._

* * *

The sun glares off of the water harshly, and suddenly my head is taunting me as it pounds, _'I told you not to drink so much last night_' it jibes. I shake myself slightly, and will the headache away. This isn't the time.

I hear the countdown begin and I search desperately for Peeta—he's out of site, apparently behind the Cornucopia, but I can see Johanna several platforms away, she's completely focused. I take one more calming breath, poise myself to dive, and when the gong sounds I'm flying.

I hit the water quickly and the cold shocks any distraction from my system. I swim furiously and without considering a moment's breath. When I reach the cornucopia I'm shocked to find that I've arrived first.

How did that happen?

I grab a bow, sling the quiver on my back, and have an arrow in place so quickly that no other tributes have been able to approach. I see Gloss approaching quickly, grinning sadistically all the way, without a second thought I send an arrow soaring through his calf. It would have hit him in the chest, but he dives into the water—smart avoiding the arrow, unfortunately the leg wound won't do him any favors, it's doubtful he could continue to run, or even walk much, with the injury I just dealt him.

I will be the reason he dies—and I can't find it in me to care. Something in me has broken, and I know that I can't focus on it, can't try to fix it. I need to embrace that now.

The cornucopia creaks behind me and I spin in place. The arrow is a breath away from being released when I catch it—Finnick. "Still allies?" I ask warily, not moving my arrow an inch.

He smirks slightly, "Perhaps if you would just move that arrow a bit to the left, dear."

As I adjust myself cautiously, he sends a spear swishing past my shoulder. For a moment I think he's betrayed me already, until I hear the tell-tale thud of a body hitting the ground. Trust—I have to trust.

"Where's Johanna?" I ask, hoping that I don't sound too terribly desperate.

"She took off for the trees," he says, arming himself quickly.

I follow behind him, picking up a set of throwing knives, and a hatchet, as well as a second quiver of arrows. A plan is quickly making itself known in the back of my mind. We make for the woods, find water, and set up camp for the night. Tomorrow, we'll be able to get a full grasp of our surroundings.

But first—we need to find Peeta.

I make my way around to the other side of the cornucopia and find him wrestling another tribute in the water. He's obviously uncomfortable in the water—I don't even know how he's staying afloat. "Finnick!" I call out, unsure how to help. Sure, I can swim, but that other tribute is strong, and I know that I would only get in the way; my only hope is that Finnick will take a bit of mercy and help out an ally.

Before I can ask I see the Capitol heartthrob drop quickly into the water, barely making sound. Neither tribute notices his presence until they are swiftly pulled under the water. I can't see a thing, the water barely moves, and I can't breathe.

Maybe he isn't helping me. What if he's just using this opportunity to kill both at once? A cannon sounds and I stare desperately into the water, my arrow poised, just in case. Someone is dead, and I can only pray that it isn't Peeta.

Suddenly the water below me splashes to life as Peeta is thrown sputtering on to the thin stripe of land. He's hacking up water and desperately trying to take in air, but he's alive.

I turn and thank Finnick as he gracefully emerges, looking as if he's just taken a leisurely stroll—though I suppose for someone from District 4, he basically did. "Thanks, Finnick. We owe you."

He just shrugs, suddenly significantly less showy—maybe Johanna got to him too. She forced me to realize that they couldn't hurt me here; maybe she did the same to him. Maybe he knows that they don't hold him here.

"We should make our way to the jungle," he says thoughtfully, "find water, gain some perspective, hopefully catch up with Jo."

I actually smile slightly, "My thoughts exactly," I respond.

* * *

My knees hit the sand hard and I groan as the saltwater slowly washes away the residue from the mist. It's blindingly painful, but I know that it will get better; the water will wash it all away.

Cannons fire again and I want to scream. We've been here less than a full day and I've heard fifteen canons already—but these two, these two nearly break me.

I had thought that if I failed, that if Peeta died, it would be heroically. It would be worth showing in syndication. He would die saving me, or someone else. I would take deadly revenge on the person who dared to slay my friend. At the very least, he would have his moment.

But he didn't. My chest constricts at the thought and I find myself curling into the water. Finnick is nearby, I know he's probably close enough to touch—but he's doing the same thing.

Mags had her moment. She knew that she was slowing him down, and she loved him like he was her own. When she kissed him, and disappeared into the mist—that was what it looked like to be a hero. Not some stupid stunt with berries, or the ability to kill people, true selflessness. But her moment has nearly killed Finnick, and I can see his hope waning. It seems that Johanna was right, there is a hell of a lot more to him.

Peeta—Peeta just tripped. It could have happened to any of us, a lone root shoots out under foot, you fall. But Clumsiness is paid for in the Hunger Games.

He was only slightly behind me, and I had been watching him so carefully because of the electrocution. But the mist picked up speed, and those few feet made a difference. When he fell the mist engulfed him like a tidal wave. There was no question as to whether or not he would survive.

Finnick had to pull me away, even though logic told me Peeta was dead, I still couldn't just leave him—but Fishboy came through. He grabbed me by the waist and threw me ahead of him.

The mist stopped only moments later—it had done what it came to do. I don't doubt that the Game Makers were aiming to destroy us emotionally, I wouldn't even be surprised if they had made the root appear, murdered Peeta. But I can't prove it, and it doesn't matter.

The canons sounded, and we are alone.

* * *

I'm nearly asleep when she comes crashing back into my life, and I shouldn't be surprised. Doesn't she always manage to grab all of the attention?

Finnick and I have made camp on the beach, hoping to at least steal a few hours of rest while the others are distracted in the forest. It's clear at this point that there are a whole variety of evils lurking throughout. I volunteer for first watch, but it's clear he isn't going to be sleeping tonight.

I doubt I will either, but soon enough sleep begins to seep in through my pores, and I can't fight it. I didn't sleep last night, and my body is feeling the repercussions.

As my eyes finally begin to drift closed she come shooting out of the jungle, covered head to toe in blood, with a herd of apes howling behind her. My bow is out and armed before I can even consider what's happening.

She stumbles over Finnick's feet without even noticing him as she propels herself head first into the water. When she comes up, some of the blood has washed away, and she holds a spear in her hands.

We're all surprised when the Apes suddenly stop at the edge of the forest. Sure—they don't like water, that isn't that uncommon. But stopping a full hunt before they even reached the beach? That's odd. Perhaps Finnick and I chose a good place to rest afterall.

I'm jolted out of my surprise when I notice that there are two others with her, having run out of the jungle in a different area. But I can't tell who they are while the blood is still covering them.

"Fucking blood and apes!" Johanna screams hysterically, "What is this? The apes I can almost understand, sure bloodthirsty beasts are nothing new for the Capitol, but raining fucking blood? What _is _that?!"

I wan't to comfort her, or celebrate her return, but we need to focus, and I know that. My arrow is pointed sharply into the eye of the larger of the two intruders.

"Johanna," I call, "As happy as I am to see you, could you please give us _some _indication as to whether or not I should be killing these people." I'm surprised out how smooth my voice sounds, how cold. I expect it to be cracking, to tremble like my erratic heartbeat, but it doesn't.

She laughs darkly, "Calm down, kitten. I brought them for you—beneath all the blood are Nuts and Volts," she explains. Then she flops down in the water, clearly relieved that the immediate threat is gone. "You're welcome."

* * *

I slowly wade out into the water, careful not to frighten her. It's been several hours since they joined us, but I've hardly spoken to her. Beetee and Wiress caught us up on everything that happened, and it's obvious Johanna doesn't feel like talking about any of it. She just sits in the water, continuously scrubbing at her skin.

She's been perfectly clean for some time now, but she stays there, just scrubbing.

"You know, you can talk to me," she whispers as I draw closer, "I promise I won't break."

"I know. I just didn't know what to say," I admit, "I'm glad you're alive seems a bit cold, but it's the only thing going through my mind right now."

She smiled slightly, "I'm glad you're not dead either, Katniss." She stares off for a moment, and then looks back at me, "I'm sorry about Peeta."

I shrug, "I'm trying not to think about it. Finnick and I bonded over mutual mental breakdowns, but then we realized we had to keep playing, so that's what I'm doing. I can cry when I'm dead."

"Katniss," she says softly, but I just shake my head.

"I brought you a present." I interrupt, not wanting to have that conversation right now.

"Oh?" She says, tilting her head curiously to the side. I hand her the hatchet.

"It wouldn't be the Hunger Games if Johanna Mason didn't have an axe," I shrug.

She nods with a small smile on her face. Then she takes a breath, seemingly deciding something, "I think—I think they're personalizing it this year."

"What do you mean?"

"I know for a fact that Chaff is petrified of apes. Something from his games, my guess. He has night terrors about them."

I shrug slightly. Sure, I wouldn't put it past the game makers to specifically target the tributes fears, but one man's odd fear of apes doesn't seem to confirm a whole game theme.

"It's not just that," she continues. "The blood… that is something different. It isn't physically harmful at all, it's just terrifying. And I think they're doing it for me."

"Why you?" I ask carefully.

"In my games…" she begins shakily, shaking her head slightly, "I snapped, Katniss. I mean, I really snapped. I had been playing nice trying to get as far as I could that way, and then I realized that it was time—I was going to be the next one they killed if I didn't kill them first. I was out numbered, and the smallest tribute by far—but I knew I had to fight.

"It was an all-out blood bath. I don't remember large portions of it, but in the recap after wards, they showed me. My 'greatest moment' in the eyes of the Capitol. I was on screen, towering over the last girl—she was screaming, scared half to death, and I was covered in a mixture of six other kids' blood. I killed her, and then—then I laughed. I just sunk to the floor laughing hysterically.

"After that, the districts hated me for a long time. I was_ too_ vicious, I was_ too_ cruel. They got over it eventually, but on the victory tour—" she shivers slightly, "Three separate districts drenched me with blood halfway through my speech."

"Johanna," I tried, but she was in her own world.

"I didn't want to kill anyone, I just wanted to live—I don't even remember their faces. But since then, I can't stand the site of blood, let alone getting it on me. But now, now I think they made it rain blood for me."

"That's horrible," I tell her, disgusted. She flinches and I realize what I've said was wrong. I wrap an arm around her, "Not you! What they did to you! People just don't understand what it's like; they could never understand what it's like."

She shakes her head slightly, and takes a breath. "There was one other thing," she says, pausing for a breath before she continued. "Wiress went nuts a ways back, after we heard a scream. I thought it was just another tribute, but she swore it was her niece. Katniss, I've rarely seen anyone that upset. The woman is unstable, for sure, but this was something else."

My heart rate picks up speed, "You think they have people's family members in here?" I reply shakily.

She shakes her head, "They couldn't, it would be too risky, but I wouldn't put it past them to have their voices."

I can feel my hands shaking—if they have their voices, they could have them. What if they're not safe, what if she was wrong this whole time? Johanna covers my hands with her own, "Breath, kitten. They don't have her. Hell, Wiress could just be crazy. I mean, she does keep ticking and tocking—that doesn't exactly point to sanity."

I nod slightly, though I know she isn't convinced.

A lightning bolt strikes a tree in the distance, and I just try not to imagine my sister in a place like this.

* * *

**Thanks for reading, please review!**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Another chapter for all you lovely readers! Thank you so much for all of your support, and the amazing reviews. I'm more appreciative then I can possibly express. Please keep letting me know what you think! **

**Oh, and I don't own this universe, or any of these characters, I just enjoy toying with their emotions.**

* * *

I land a hard kick to his face as I scramble away quickly; "Katniss!" he shouts from behind me, "Stop!"

I can hear him chasing after me, but I don't stop.

"_Katniss! Help, help me, Katniss!"_ Her screams intensify, they seem to surround me, but I just pound further into the jungle, praying that I can find her in time.

When Johanna had told me about Wiress' niece, I had believed her. I had believed that Wiress had heard the voice of her niece, and I agreed that it was unlikely that the Capitol had actually put our loved ones in the Arena with us. But that logic did nothing to stop the escalating panic seeping through my veins.

My little sister's voice echoes around me, begging for my help, terrified and alone. "Prim!" I scream, my voice sounding shrill even to my own ears. "PRIM!"

Suddenly my face hits the dirt and I can taste the soil in my mouth. Strong arms hold my torso to the ground, while their legs straddle my thighs—effectively pinning me face first on the ground. "Finnick, get the fuck off of me!" I yell, not worrying who hears me.

"Katniss, you need to calm down, and stop screaming. You're going to draw out the other victors and get us all killed!" He tells me firmly, I try to bite him and he actually laughs.

"It's my sister, Finnick. My sister! Please, just let me go to her," I cry.

"Katniss, take a breath," A calm voice says behind me—Johanna.

Tears threaten to fall as I hear the screams continue on, further off now. She's getting away. "Jo, please. Make him let me go—please help me."

She kneels beside me and gently pets my hair, "Just think for a moment," she whispers. "You know it isn't her. She isn't here."

"I'm not crazy, I'm not. I can hear her. I'm going to lose her if you don't let me go."

"Katniss, we've just about hit the final five—they _have_ to keep her alive and available for interviews right now," she reasons, and I believe her. I know she's right. "She's safe."

I relax slightly, and Finnick moves off of me. I sit up slightly and can see them share a look before he walks back towards the rest of the group.

"How did they get her voice?" I ask slowly, my own voice shaking desperately. "How could they have gotten her scream like that?"

Johanna just wraps an arm around me, and helps me to my feet, "She's okay Katniss. Just focus on surviving—she's going to be okay."

"Why didn't anyone else hear anything?" I ask quietly. Now that I'm scraping the mud from my face I feel foolish for reacting like I did.

"You and Finn were the only ones they targeted this time. We all heard the screams, they just didn't affect us because they weren't _for _us," she explains carefully, "Finn heard his girl, Annie, but then the game makers had a malfunction. He started hearing Mags as well. He may have lost it worrying about Annie, but he knew that the recordings weren't real because Mags couldn't be screaming like that.

"Yours were different anyways. Finn heard Annie calling, Wiress had heard her niece scream. But yours—well yours were a lot more gut-wrenching, and a lot more convincing. I think they may have used recordings from your first reaping."

I just nod numbly. That does make sense, but it doesn't calm the dread that has filled me. I just want to know she's okay—but I won't know that unless I survive. I look towards the young woman walking ahead of me.

I want to reach out to her, grab her hand. I don't even know if she feels that way for me, not really. Haymitch seems to think so, but can I really rely on that? She may have just been having a final moment before the games, and can I really fault her? Still, it doesn't stop my hands from twitching when I'm near her, desperately wanting to take her hand or smooth her hair.

I can't let her die—not for me. I can't kill her. No matter how _right_ it may be, and no matter how much my sister—and Panem—may need me, I can't do that to her.

I _can't _survive.

* * *

I realize that I need to leave them behind soon after we return to camp. Beetee has a brilliant plan to kill the final two careers, but then what? I had thought that it was only Johanna that would cause me problems, but as Finnick approaches me, apologizing for tackling me, I feel a weight lift off of me. I'm _glad_ that my friend isn't upset with me for kicking him in the jaw, and I'm glad that he knows I'm not upset.

That's when I see the problem.

Finnick is my friend.

Beetee is a nice older guy, and almost a friend.

Johanna is… beyond contemplation right now, she's just Johanna.

I can't kill any of these people, I can't do it. There are two careers left, and then it's over it's just the four of us. I need to get away now, find a nice little nook to hide in, and disappear.

"Katniss!" I hear next to me, and I'm jolted back into my current reality. It's Johanna and she looks mildly annoyed. "Would you like to join the land of the still-living?"

"Sorry," I say softly, shaking my head. "What's up?"

"Beetee is going to set things up by the tree, and Finnick is staying to protect him. That leaves you and I in charge of laying this wire down to the beach. But we need to move fast."

I nod and get to my feet; I suppose I can wait a few more minutes before vanishing. She's looking at me though, and I can tell that she knows. She may not know exactly what I'm planning, but she can tell it's something.

We walk silently for some time, passing the line between the two of us. Suddenly she stops and I nearly stumble in to her. She tosses the wire to me and turns around, "Alright, what's going on?" she demands.

I grow cold, and keep moving, we're nearly to the beach now, "What are you talking about, Johanna?"

"You've been acting oddly ever since the Jabberjays. You've been distant with me, and floating about in your own insane little world. What are you planning, Everdeen?"

Something about the way she uses my name just pisses me off, and I pick up my speed, hurrying to reach the beach so that I can get away. "I'm not planning anything, you're being paranoid."

When we reach the beach I quickly dig a small hole and bury the remaining coil, just as Beetee instructed. I ignore Johanna's searching eyes as I work, and when I stand up, I don't meet her eyes. Dusting the sand off of my knees, I move back into the jungle, trying to put some distance between us. Apparently, she isn't going to put up with that. Without warning she grabs my arm, spins me around, and presses me up against a tree trunk.

"What the hell?" I snap.

"Enough," she whispers, "I don't know what's going on with you, but I'm not going to spend my last moments alive with you biting off my fucking head. What did I do to piss you off?"

I sigh, the guilt seeping in through my skin. "Nothing," I whisper, "You didn't do anything wrong, Jo."

She looks at me carefully, studying my face, searching for a lie. "Then why are you pushing me away."

I laugh and look down at my feet, "What world are you in right now? I _have _to push you away. This is the Hunger Games. It's not the best place for forming lasting _friendships_."

She steps back a pace, her expression is pure heartbreak, "So you're distancing yourself because you know you have to kill me," she whispers.

"No!" I shout, blushing at my own outburst. "I wouldn't do that Jo, I wouldn't ever do that. I just—when it comes down to it, I can't kill you; I can't kill Finnick or Beetee. So I need to get out of here, I need to hide, and hope—hope that you make it out of here alive. But I can't fight you, I could never fight you."

She groans loudly and spins around for a moment, clawing at her hair. "This isn't fair," she mutters. "I can't do this. Damn it. I can't _hurt _you. This wasn't supposed to be so hard."

"Sorry," I say with a small smile, and she laughs slightly.

She turns back to me, and looks me directly in the eyes, "I…" she starts, but pauses, all words lost to her. Sighing with frustration she runs her hand down my face gently, and repeats the words that she said so recently, "I wish I had met you sooner."

Then her lips are on mine and my back is pushed up against the tree as the bark rubs my skin raw. I cling to her desperately, trying to absorb every ounce of emotion I can—knowing that I will have to let go soon, and that I won't ever have the chance to see if this could be love—if this already is love.

I won't have the chance to see what life with Johanna could be like in a moment when our lives aren't on the line. See what life could be like if we weren't both completely mentally shattered.

"I'm so sorry, Kitten," she whispers against my lips, and I can feel the tears falling down her face.

"What are you?" I start, but then a blinding pain hits my temple and I scream as my eyes are blinded by white light. "Jo?" I call confusedly, what just happened?

I can hear her voice whispering apologies incoherently, and that's when I realize. She's going to kill me, she has to.

Darkness begins to creep through my subconscious, mulling my thoughts, slowing my reflexes. My heart feels the strangest sensation as it breaks and soars simultaneously. I smile dazedly, realizing that she is going to live, and that is all I've wanted for her from the beginning. She will survive and have a life. I couldn't wish for anything more—but she is also killing me. She is going to let me die, despite the feelingswe share.

I feel the sharp pain before I realize what she's done, and I'm screaming as she covers my mouth. She carves my arm open and all I can think is, _Why is she mutilating me? Why isn't she just killing me?_ And then I know the answer, I was wrong. Johanna had played her game again—the same game she had played and won years ago. She had fooled me, and now she was going to kill me.

She is a murderer.

* * *

**Thanks for reading! Please review!**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: I'm sorry I left you all with that terrible cliffhanger, though it did inspire some lovely messages! I'm sorry to report that there is just one more chapter after this. Thank you so much for reading, and please shoot me a review if you have the time!**

* * *

When I wake up, I can tell something isn't quite right even before I open my eyes. Silence surrounds me, except for the low beeping of a machine, and the quiet breathing of a nearby body. _What's going on?_ I was obviously no longer in the arena—but where was I?

I take a moment before I alert anyone to my state of consciousness. The air smells like chlorine, with a hint of pine and lemon thrown into the mix. My whole body is sore, but it doesn't feel terribly injured, and my throat feels raw.

I'm certainly not in my best fighting condition, but I should manage well enough—if I ever figure out where I am. Only one way to obtain that kind of information, I open my eyes. The room is dark, but I can see the glowing monitor which sits to my left, it reflects ominously off of the hard linoleum floor and the pale walls. A hospital?

I look to my right and see a figure hunched over at an unnatural angle in a chair. Dark hair falls over their face, but I still smile, recognizing the small figure. Johanna.

I can't imagine a scenario where the Game Makers would allow two victors again. That's insane even in my mind. Not to mention, didn't she kill me? My heart throbs uncomfortably as my last few memories trickle in.

But something isn't right—if she's sitting here next to me, I'm obviously missing something. "Johanna," I whisper.

She jolts awake violently and a knife clatters to the floor. Her bright eyes peer into mine and all at once she's on her feet and clutching me desperately. "You're alive," she whispers scratchily. "It's been days, they didn't know if you would wake up. They—they thought I had hit you too hard. I can't believe you're alive."

"What happened? Where are we?" She pulls back and scrutinizes me carefully.

Taking a deep breath she finally asks me, "Katniss, do you remember anything?" I think for a moment back to the last moments in my memory. My breath shakes slightly; I know that isn't what she needs me to remember.

"Kissing you," I whisper, my eyes downcast. I choose to omit the moments immediately following that kiss.

She smiles sadly, "And I know you remember my hitting you," she whispers painfully, "And the cut."

I touch my arm and cringe slightly, it's heavily bandaged.

"Try not to move it too much; I cut a bit deeper then I meant to, and it's still healing. It should get better in time." I nod lightly, and raise an eyebrow, hoping she'll know what I am asking. "Katniss, I wasn't trying kill you."

I roll my eyes, the picture of adulthood. "I kind of guessed that. If so, you did a rubbish job," I whisper. "But I still don't know what happened."

"There was a plan, Katniss. A plan you didn't know about, you couldn't know about. They saved us from the Arena, we made it out alive. But to get to that point—I had to remove your tracker, and it had to seem like I was trying to kill you on camera. Otherwise we never would have had enough time."

I feel myself nodding. As unbelievable as the tale sounds, I believe her. It makes more sense than her trying to kill me, or at least it feels better. "Beetee blew the arena, and Haymitch and Plutarch came to the rescue."

I shake my head slightly, trying to clear the spinning which surrounds me. "We escaped from the Arena," I clarify, "So where…?"

She leans down and kisses me lightly, "We're in District 13, we're free."

* * *

It's three weeks before we speak again, and I've nearly convinced myself it was all a sick dream.

I'm kept in the hospital and under constant surveillance. They seem to think that I'm mentally unstable, and a threat to the safety of President Coin.

It's true that during our first meeting I threatened her, and that I've been fairly unresponsive. It's also true that I tried to stab Haymitch when he told me about the disappearance of Beetee and Finnick. But none of that was me being _mentally unstable _or _threatening_. These people are obviously confused.

Haymitch understood, surprisingly enough. He understood that I was angry that he made the call to keep me out of the loop, and angry that he made Johanna keep secrets as well. He understood that I was furious when I found out that he had to make the call to leave without Finnick and Beetee. I may understand why he's made the decisions he had, but I don't have to like them, and he understands that.

The citizens of District 13 do not.

As for Coin, well she's another creature all together. I was honestly excited to meet the woman who was meant to lead our revolution. Excited to help her, work with her, fight with her. Then I met her.

She holds the same cold stare that Snow always fixed me with, and treats me as if I am entirely incapable of caring for myself. Only moments after shaking my hand she turned to Haymitch and asked him when I would be ready to shoot some promotional materials.

She didn't ask _me_ if I was willing to be her Mockingjay. She didn't ask me if I was willing to be paraded about for the cameras, again. She asked _Haymitch_.

He simply coughed awkwardly, and suggested she speak to me about any of that. She was obviously displeased, but Haymitch earned my full forgiveness in that moment. I simply told her that I wasn't interested.

If they want a soldier, I'll help. If they want someone to rally the troops, I'll help. But if they want me to don the ridiculous Capitol Couture hair and makeup, and prance around in my dead friend's clothing line, they have another thing coming. She even wanted me to continue playing off of Peeta. Mourn Peeta's death on camera; discuss the pain of losing our unborn child.

This bitch wants me to keep me in the arena, and she has another thing coming.

After she left, I couldn't help but smile. I wanted to tell Jo everything I had said; I knew she would appreciate my words. But she never came.

They wouldn't let me leave that damn hospital room for three weeks, and only Haymitch and Prim ever came.

_Prim_.

She is safe, as it turns out, and that's one reason to celebrate. She comes to see me every day when her hospital rounds are finished. She catches me up on the goings on in 13—she's the reason I know that Johanna is absolutely safe and healthy. Prim sees her at breakfast every morning.

Haymitch brings me news, and tries to convince me to help Coin. When he knocks on the door, I almost turn him away, "Haymitch, I love to see you, but if you tell me I need to help Coin one more time, I'm kicking you out."

He smirks lightly, "Always a pleasure sweetheart," I simply glare at him.

"Look, I'll consider helping, but they have to do something for me," He groans slightly, but listens. "I need to be let out of this room, allowed to interact. You _know_ I'm not a threat to anyone here, Haymitch. And you also know that I can't even begin to give this place a chance if I'm being treated like even more of a prisoner that I was in the Capitol."

He nods, "I told them that, but they wouldn't listen to me," he sighs. "I'll talk to her again tomorrow; give her your exact words. I can't make any promises."

He looks exhausted, and I know he's been fighting for me almost nonstop around here. Hell, he's been fighting for me almost nonstop for the last few years. I feel terrible for continually putting him in the situation, but I can't help it. "You understand why I can't do it, right Haymitch?"

He smiles tiredly, "It would be a hell of a lot easier if I didn't understand so well, Sweetheart."

* * *

It's another week before I'm let out, and even then it is under strict supervision. I'm moved in with Prim and my mother, though I didn't even realize she was here until I walk into the apartment.

I also have a strict schedule, required therapy and medication, and am required to attend various war planning meetings. I haven't agreed to be their Mockingjay yet, but I suppose I will have to soon enough.

I need to come up with a list of demands first, that was Haymitch's idea. He thinks that if I don't, they'll simply bulldoze over me, and manipulate me—he swears they're better than the Capitol, but I can see in his eyes that it's only barely.

On my first free morning I make my way towards the cafeteria, and that's when I see her. She is leaning causally against a wall with her eyes closed—the site of her takes my breath away.

It's been a month since I woke up, and I haven't seen her even once. A month since she kissed me and told me we were free. I've been dreaming of seeing her again, of simply touching her. A handshake, a nudge of the shoulder, anything which can confirm that she is actually real and alive.

I force myself to look away and walk purposefully towards the cafeteria. I sit down next to Prim, across from Gale, and I eat my cereal quietly. I don't look up again until I'm back in my room.

I curl into myself and place my head on my knees. I feel so terribly alone here, and I don't even seem to know which way is up. Maybe they're right, maybe I am mentally unstable. But I'm also _alone_.

Gale doesn't understand—not anymore. He can't understand. He absolutely worships Coin. And Prim is still so young.

I know I could talk to her, could try and make her understand. She probably would, better than most. But she's my baby sister. I volunteered as tribute so she _wouldn't _have to live through the games—I don't want her to experience them through me.

Peeta would understand, but he's dead—just the thought of him sends a painful shock through my chest. Finnick and Beetee are in the Capitol. And goodness knows my mother is no help.

My only friend is Johanna, and she isn't speaking to me. A deep seated rage flares up in me as I think of it. _Why isn't she speaking to me?_ A glass shatters against the opposite wall. I suppose I must have thrown it, though I don't really remember.

All I know is that I'm suddenly pitching myself out of the door and storming down the hallway, frightening other citizens as I move through the halls. I find her quickly, she hasn't moved from her spot on the wall. When I grab her arm she jumps and moves to hit me. Her eyes are wild and petrified as she swings blindly.

A pang of guilt—I'm not the only one suffering. My rage calms, if only slightly.

"Shh," I whisper. "It's just me." She flinches as I pull her down the hall and through the twisting corridors. When we enter my apartment she pauses at the door, unsure.

I jerk her through and shut the door swiftly. "What's going on?" I snap. As much as I just want to hug her and tell her that she is the moon and stars to me, I don't. I need to know why she abandoned me. I need to know what I did wrong.

Her voice is quiet, weaker than I remember it, and she is trembling slightly. Who is this shell of a woman? "What are you talking about, Katniss?"

"The last time I saw you," my voice catches in my throat, "You told me you would see me at breakfast—that was a month ago. Why have you been avoiding me? What did I do?" I try not to shout, but I know I'm coming off harsher than I mean to. Saying it all outloud, really admitting it, is breaking my heart. I just need to understand what happened.

"I—I've been busy," she stutters. "I'm glad you're feeling better though."

"Busy?" I repeat disbelievingly, "For a month?"

She just looks at her feet and scratches her forearm irritably.

"Johanna, I'm smart. I know everyone around here seems to think I'm some sort of idiot, but I'm not. Something made you run, and if that's what you want to do, fine, but I think I deserve an explanation," I snap bitterly, "You don't have to love me, but damnit, don't ignore me."

Her eyes shoot up after my last statement, "I'm sorry," she whispers. "I should have come back."

"Why, Jo?"

"Katniss, it was my fault you almost died. I hit you too hard. I was just supposed to knock you out and take out the sensor, but I ended up putting you in a coma and nearly causing you to lose an arm! I made you trust me, and I tricked you," She rambles hysterically.

"You tricked me?" I ask, and I can feel my face paling. It was a trick, a part of the rebellion. Just a strategy. "I guess that explains everything than. I get it. You don't—you don't have to feel awkward," I mumble, stumbling over my words.

"No, no Katniss, that's not what I meant," she quickly pleads, but I'm not listening.

"It's fine Johanna, really. You knew I wasn't going to trust you easily; you had to befriend me—befriend me," I echo pathetically. "I get it."

"Katniss, shut up," she spits, and my head snaps up, I stare directly into her eyes. As cruel as it sounds, I'm thrilled to see the anger, pain and frustration shining in her eyes. It means that some of her personality is returning. "That isn't what I mean when I said I tricked you. Those last moments, the last kiss—_that _was a trick, a painful distraction so that I could knock you out. I had to do it, and I hate myself for it…But my friendship, my feelings, were never anything less than genuine."

"Then why didn't you come back?" I ask, trying to contain the desperate hope which seems to be echoing around my chest, I have to know. I can't be fooled again.

She takes a deep breath, and looks at her chewed of nails again, "I didn't want you to tell me," she whispers weakly. "I was sure that once you were fully awake, fully healed, you would realize that I had betrayed you. I was sure you wouldn't _want _to see me anymore. And I just didn't want to hear you tell me to leave… It was cowardly, but that's the truth."

"Really?" I whisper, afraid to believe her. "I won't fault you for the game and the plot—but if you play with me now, I don't know how I'll recover," I tell her honestly.

She steps closer to me, nervously twitching, "Katniss, I'm not playing around here. I…" she pauses for a moment, self-conscious and unsure. "I _care_ about you, much more than I should have."

I smile carefully, stepping closer as well, but still afraid to touch, afraid that she'll suddenly disappear from my sight. "I care about you too, Johanna," I breath, our faces barely a foot apart.

As usual, she is the one to close the gap, and my heart soars. This kiss isn't a desperate or frightened as the others. It's slow, and careful. It's our first kiss which isn't saying goodbye, instead we are welcoming in something entirely new, and I love it.

I pull her closer and only pause for a moment to note how much weight she's lost. She's been just as lost as I have for the last month, and I only wish I could have helped her.

I pull her carefully onto the bed next to me, wanting her closer. "I'm not implying anything, I swear, I just want you near me."

She smiles mischievously at me, and I realize that I haven't seen that smile in quite some time. She hovers over me gently, her hand working its way under my shirt, gently grazing the soft skin of my sides. "What if I want you to imply something?" she asks me, her voice smooth and deep.

Just like that we're back on that roof top; moments before Haymitch came barging into our moment. She has one hand on my breast and the other in my hair as she kisses me desperately and passionately, and I feel loved.

* * *

**3 I do love when the characters are feeling happy! This is much better than the ending to the last chapter! Just one chapter left, shoot me a review if you have something you would like to see! Maybe, just maybe, things can work out in your favor! **

**As always, thanks for reading, and please review!**


	8. Chapter 8: An Epilogue

**A/N: And here we go, the final chapter...**

* * *

It's nearly six years before we actually win the war.

Most of the rebels had thought we would win quickly, but revolution doesn't work like that. The Capitol was strong; there was a reason why it had been in power for the last 75 years. It took time, it took lives, and it took nearly all of our willpower. But we _did_ win, in the end.

Coin was long since dead by that point, and I can't say I was overly disappointed. She was a bitch, and a terrible leader. She may not have deserved death, but Panem was better for it—the revolution was better for it.

A woman by the name of Paylor ends up leading us in the end, and she does things right. She isn't perfect, I suppose, but she's fair enough that I can stay out of things. Fair enough that children aren't being sent to their death, or prostituted for the government's gain. I can't complain.

Haymitch, surprisingly enough, ended up staying in the Capitol for some time after the rebellion. He's gained an odd sort of respect around there, and Paylor and her cabinet listen to the advice he gives. He seems confused by it, for the most part, but after years of being helpless to the system, he doesn't turn them down. His opinions are readily available, blunt, and not uncommonly laced with a slight hint of whiskey.

He comes to twelve from time to time. He claims to have important business, but I've never seen him do any. He'd never admit it, but I think he needs me almost as much as I've always needed him. We've become family in our strange universe, and we work well together.

Who are we to complain, we're the only family we've got.

Prim—I shiver to think of her. She died the death that Peeta was never granted. She died heroically.

I was able to keep her away from the bloodshed until she was seventeen—able to keep her helping and training in District 13's hospital. But she was more knowledgeable than most of the healers there, and she knew it. By the time she was seventeen she demanded to be let free.

"At 17 you were already leading a revolution, Kat! Let me do my part, let me help!" she had screamed furiously. At the time, I was amazed. My little duck had _never_ spoken to me that way. She was always calm, always in control. But this time she showed her Everdeen temper, and she won. It wasn't till months later that I found out about Rory Hawthorne. He had died that day—bled to death from a gunshot wound, and there was no one available to save him.

Prim could have.

After that I rarely saw her, but I heard about her constantly. She was a legend in her own right, no longer just the sister to the Mockingjay—she was a dove. She brought peace to every person she saw, either through saving them, or just bringing comfort. She was an angel.

When the bombs went off that day, she was only nineteen. We were days away from victory, and I was only a handful of steps away from her. She was helping a whole crowd of children, trying desperately to calm them, to save them.

I saw the bombs before they hit, but there was nothing left to do but cry. There were no survivors that day.

Her death, their death, was the final spark the revolution needed to create the inferno they had so desperately searched for in me. With those young lives lost, our force cried out, and won—finally.

I was nearly inconsolable after that. Haymitch and Finnick had both _tried _to help. It was only Jo who could pull be out of my own mind. Only her.

She always seemed to have the magic touch of sanity—strange, being who she was. By the time Finnick was found, along with Beetee, they had been captured for over a year. A person doesn't just come back from something like that—Beetee was surprisingly able. He found solace in his buttons and wires, in his inventions and his desire for revenge.

But Finnick, Finnick had nothing left to grab on to. He had lost so much of himself before the Quell even took place, had been torn down to barely nothing—but after his time in the Capitol, he didn't even have that left. His body had degraded to practically nothing, and the mischief in his eyes had been painfully snuffed out. He was empty.

Yet Johanna saw him. Where the rest of us were helpless, she found him.

I was a bit jealous, if I'm honest. I hated myself for it at the time, but I was still so scared, so unsure. And she spent weeks at his side. But her diligence was well paid off; she was the one who made him laugh—even if it was only the handful of times. And she was the one who convinced him to help her rob the commissary of anything chocolate—bringing back that spark, if only ever so slightly.

She had that magic in her, and had saved him just as she had me.

After Prim, I tried to run. I didn't want to be comforted, and I didn't want to feel better. I knew that she held that power, I knew that however slowly, I would get better—I just didn't want to. I would sneak out of bed in the earliest hours before dawn and pace the floors of the old training center—of all the places for them to send us for shelter. I would search desperately for a place to hide, to remain unseen. But she always found me.

In closets.

Under beds.

Crouched in an unused shower.

She always found me, and would join me. She would make herself small and unnoticeable, and sit in the furthest corners from me—never touching, never speaking, and never _bothering_. Just being present.

She always knew what people needed.

One day she brought me to the roof, and I remembered that night so long ago. I cried when she wrapped her arms around me, "What does it say about my life, that I'm yearning for _that_ moment again. We were only hours away from certain death, and yet I'm praying to return to that moment."

She sighed lightly, and kissed my shoulder. "You aren't nostalgic for the certain death—you're nostalgic for the moment," she whispered. "It was a good moment."

She paused for a moment, and I could tell she was thinking, "Katniss, I know you're hurting, and I know that you _want_ to keep hurting," she began carefully, "But, well, what if we didn't do that anymore?"

I looked at her strangely; she still knew how to confuse me so incredibly sometimes, "What are you talking about, Johanna?"

She sat down on the ground carefully, and pulled me down next to her. "Just think about it for a moment, Kitten. What if we stopped hurting? What if we just woke up tomorrow, and decided we were finished."

I shook my head slightly, "I don't think it works that way."

"But what if it did?" she implored, "What if tomorrow morning we pack up our things and pick a destination. What if we find a home to live in, find a life together?"

I smiled slightly at the thought, and nudged her foot with mine, "You want to find a life with me, Johanna Mason?"

She looked at me seriously, "I love you, Katniss Everdeen. I don't want to make a life _unless_ it's with you."

My heart nearly beat itself out of my chest that night, as I looked into her eyes, "You've never said that to me before," I whispered.

"That's because I was hurting, and I was afraid to hurt more. But I love you, and I'm not scared of that hurting me anymore. I'm choosing to live beyond that fear now. What do you say, girl on fire, will you come with me?"

I just nodded, too scared to say anything else.

"Now there is only one more question," she said with a small smile, "Your place, or mine?"

In the end, we chose mine. We went back to the Victors village in District 12, which had been slowly rebuilding itself at that point. If nothing else, the houses were nice, and it did feel like home to me.

We got rid of nearly everything which had been in the house originally, we wanted to start fresh. We painted, and cleaned. We even tore down some walls—something Johanna enjoyed far too much.

In the end, the terrifying house which the Capitol had awarded me for killing their children became the home that both Johanna and I had so desperately craved.

Each morning I would go out hunting, no longer needing to duck under a fence or break the law when I wanted to escape into the woods. And each night as we held each other close, and crossed our fingers for a night without nightmares, Johanna would kiss the back of my neck and whisper, "I care about you, Katniss Everdeen."

We had finally found peace and freedom, and more than that, we found each other.

* * *

**The End.**

**I very much hope you enjoyed how I finished it, and my choices in changing the rebellion a bit. I'll be honest, after they finally got together, I had no urge to continue through the whole revolution, I'll leave that to the talented Ms. Collins, but I still wanted to show you my vision of what happened next. I do hope you enjoyed it. **

**Thank you so much for all of the support and reviews, I'm completely flattered. If there is anything you can think of which I could improve upon, please let me know. I'm always trying to get better, so criticism is lovely. Either way, please shoot me a final review and let me know what you think.**

**Thank you SO much for reading. **


End file.
